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Fleeting Dream
Fleeting Dream: 1 Title: Fleeting Dream Characters * The Giant: Giant Monster(s) One "...you're unable to handle such might!" "You underestimate me, Hezphera." A duo of giants, one garbed in knight's armor and the other in a mystical dress code, hesitantly argued over the sounds of agony and terror emanating from the nearby battlefield. Thousands of valiant, brave fighters, all eliminated under the hands of one possessing an almighty power. He could be stopped, though a risk persisted. "Albertus, it is not a matter of underestimation; it is the sheer instability of the archives held in your hands, that is so. Even us, the creators, can not imagine handling such latent craft!" "Myself may be just a mere rookie to comprehend, however, now is not the time!" Raising up into the wretched air of the warring lands an ancient book, the knight started to chant, albeit with the witch behind him in certain dismay. Magical energies flowed around the corners, a series of lights pulsating from the tattered cracks of its pages. As death drew closer, the desperation to activate the spells held within ever so heightened. The energies wafting in the atmosphere formed a mystic tornado of sorts, illuminating the fields grasped by glooming darkness. Symbols of forbidden arts, dark crafts and holy spells merged, a ring of incantations surrounded the caster's every being. The figure whom loomed by, grew terribly afraid. However, feelings of negativity, desperation in a time of hopeless need, turned its power around, as all the untapped energies collapsed upon themselves, an inescapable circle of black formed, sucking every creature, living or dead, into its wormhole. The spell caster himself was unaffected, though all this was for naught as he watched on, the only companion that was by his side drifting into oblivion. And as everything finally settled down, he bent down to the knees, praying to God, begging for forgiveness for ever tapping into such anathema. Two "Rechmeia, named after the one stained in sin." An archaeologist stood by lumps of mined rock, translating the inscribed runes laid across endless walls of limestone. An excavation was ordered to be sent into its deepest, darkest depths, a small team of researchers scouting its premises. Stalactites hung from crumbling roofs, a shelter from outside forces. Minerals of salt stacked in the distance, as if pillars holding the vicinity together. The ever present drips of cave water, combined with the whistling of gusty winds, created an ambience that shook the group to the core. However, there was no turning back. "Is that what I think it is...?" "Certainly seems like it." One of the male excavators, thrilled to be relieved of the terrifying environment he was placed abruptly in, took off without haste, dashing towards a sealed cavern laid in front of his eyes without so much of a heartbeat. This was a fatal mistake; medieval traps of arrows laced with deathly poisons shot out towards the target upon activation, while a sharpened pole appeared from beneath, impaling the man with a clean strike through his abdomen. Blood spluttered from his intestinal regions, waterfalls of crimson liquid coughed from his body systems as he turned back to the team with one last look of regret. "How horrible..." a female investigator felt the urge to vomit, regurgitating a digested lunch. The others all stared on in a mixture of disgust and shock, unaware of the traps laid out for possible intruders. The leader trudged on, getting a brief glance of his former comrade, guts spilling out on a pool of blood. Picking up several pebbles, he threw them across, only to realise the room revamping itself to fit the circumstances. What an interesting self defense mechanism, he thought, almost as if it was alive. A few tries at experimentation, and the tables turned. It was a sub dimension connected to the outside world, adapting to assimilate and reform into its environment. With such knowledge in hand, the team managed to trek across without trouble. At long last, laid a door scratched at with markings of some sort. Do not enter, the readings conveyed, though such a warning did not seem to matter after the ordeals the group had struggled through. With the decisive blow of a pickaxe, they uncovered the last Artifact. Three "The Gods, Promised Messiah and The Chosen One... our hands clasped in absolute prayer! Salvation is due upon us! Amen!" The preachings of an aged arch priest were followed by invocations chanted from a submissive crowd. Evangelists bowed down upon the might of an ancient statuette, a creature pinned to a wooden cross by nails implanted into the palms and ankles. In agony he must have felt, though at peace he must have been. She had never felt such power coursing through numerous persons, belief being a substantial link connecting these minds alike. Cold shivers were sent down a fragile spine, as the woman watched on at devotees all held in prayer as one. ... "How was it? Amazing, amirite?" The preacher from before approached the lady clad in a brown coat. "I do have to admit that your faith is something extraordinary," the detective spoke with a cigar lodged in her mouth, puffing out a waft of smoke into the frigid air. Winter was just around the corner. "These people hold their hopes in Him, and it's my job to oversee their belief, as an appointed messenger. What brings you here, anyway?" "A troublesome case imposed upon my self by meddling munters, nothing out of the ordinary, nor the reaches of my job. It's just work, to summarise," she faced up into looming clouds with hopeless wonders, troubled eyes. "You seem... disturbed. What is the matter, my child?" The priest perched in, noticing a pained expression. Reluctant at first, she sighed, then gave in. No point hiding facts that were supposed to be faced. "If faith holds such power, could, let's say... fate itself be changed as well?" He paused, and took the time to answer. "That is something for you to decide upon yourself, young lady." Another sigh, and the detective flung a spent cigarette onto the gravel ground. "It always has been, Pastor, it always has." Four "I'm saying this is of scientific importance! We keep this!" "And I say no, because these useless scraps of a book costed the life of my wingman!" "Mind your manners, these 'scraps' are named Artifacts! National treasures if you will!" Two grown men, rambling with vivacity. One, a ragged researcher, the other, a ruffled explorer. Both leaders of their respective groups. "Artifacts, ones we have no idea about! What good do these bring us?" "A step closer to immortality, godhood perhaps!" "Yeah, alchemic rubbish you mutter!" Unraveled neatly in a laminated form laid dated pages of a long forgotten grimoire, one humanity had lost their touch on. Knowledge spanning entire centuries, mastery of forbidden arts across the stars, condensed into a single page. All these priceless treasures, located here on Earth. "With these, humanity can ascend to greater planes, higher stages of existence! It is something we have always hoped for! A chance at something incomprehensible till now!" He giggled, laughter escalating into mad outbursts. Gone nuts, perhaps. "All of those wishes, granted by one, tiny stone? What a joke." The man scoffed. He didn't believe in this nonsensical garbage, that something so meek could grant the extraordinary. "You shouldn't underestimate it, you fool! The prized jewel holding the key to everything in existence... ...The Philosopher's Stone." Category:Crazybeard1234 Category:Ultraman Atlas (Continuity) Category:Fan Episodes